Kathryn, whose hair was a snug, dark Kippie-cap, leaped from the Wall seat. "Don't turn it off now! Couldn't you even tell, Mother? He's going to kiss her! Turn it back on this minute!"
Amanda stationed herself before the lever, shaking her head. "Not until I've spoken to you," she said. "Kathryn, I don't think you realize yet what it means, but you're the youngest person, the very youngest, living in this city."
"Quit calling me that! Everyone has to call me Kippie." She cocked her dark head, Kippie-like. The red mark caused by the constant prodding of her index finger against her cheek glared. "Bass loves Kippie. He called her sweetie-bug."
"I refuse to call you Kippie." She folded her arms. "I don't want to discuss your name again, Kathryn."
"It will be Kippie." She squirmed into a Kippie-like position. "Soon as I'm twenty-one, I'll change it. You wait!"
"Perhaps you will, Kathryn. But I'll never call you Kippie."
"Oh, quit being silly and turn it on. He might kiss her again." She focused her blue eyes upon the Wall. "Turn it on."
"Kathryn, I want to talk to you, and I intend to do so without Bass McDowall staring over my shoulder." She sat down beside her daughter. "Now, Kathryn, you're nineteen years old, and you're certainly attractive by any—"
"I don't have dimples like Kippie does." Remembering, she poked her finger back into her cheek.
"I'm not talking about Kippie." She stared at the finger sunk into her daughter's cheek, wondering how many times she had explained that it wouldn't cause a dimple. "I want you to get married, Kathryn."